


the chase

by freckledshoulderblades



Category: Suikoden I
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Unrequited Love, basically gremio is a snack and everyone wants a piece, tags will be placed at the beginning of each chapter as well, to make things clear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledshoulderblades/pseuds/freckledshoulderblades
Summary: When Gremio comes back from the dead he finds out he's become someone to conquer, rather than the army's caretaker.





	1. Gremio/Camille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gremio has a debt to pay
> 
> chapter tags: dubcon, cunnilingus

He can feel Camille’s eyes boring a hole into the back of his head, even as he works with Marie and Antonio to prepare food for the stragglers left behind in the castle as Tir searches for more aid. Gremio’s used to her, unfortunately, haunting him around the broken alabaster corridors like a specter, but with a far sharper tongue and the spear to match.

But this - 

It’s getting to be a problem, with how she’s often cornering him in the  _ most _ inopportune times, most recently sabotaging him outside of the baths, the small room he calls his own, when he’s trying to  _ keep everyone alive in a battle _ .

So he turns, locks eyes with her in a way that most would call pleading but he thinks of as more commanding, and jerks his head towards the empty storeroom in the corner of the first floor.

She stands, follows him with her spear gripped tight in her hand; he’d once thought they were dainty, fragile, but after he’d seen her kill the zombified dragon in the basement he couldn’t see her hands as anything but forces to be reckoned with. Gremio doesn’t corner her to make up for the times he’s dealt with her presence close, too close for comfort, but he does lean against the wall in what he undoubtedly believes is a cool, suave manner, and crosses his arms.

“Can you please leave me alone.” he squeaks out, and he’s a little mortified at the way his voice cracks. Gremio isn’t suited to this type of pressure, far more at ease cooking and cleaning and looking after troublesome Young Masters. Camille bares her teeth, feral, and laughs at his misfortune.

“Still haven’t paid me.” She stalks forward, red hair bouncing a little with her movement, and Gremio frowns.

“I paid you as soon as I had the ability to, Camille.” There’s a righteous, indignant anger sparking in his chest, and he feels his cheeks heat. “In fact, near as soon as we left with Tai Ho, I paid you back. It was hardly a day after you’d  _ cornered _ me and demanded I pay that I did so.”

He watches her pause, momentarily unsure, and she rifles around in her bag for a well worn journal. A stick of graphite rests in the center, bound by thin hide, and he sees her flip through the pages with a single minded intensity that, for the moment, he’s glad isn’t focused on his back.

“Ah!” she finally exclaims, pointing triumphantly at a dirt smeared page. Gremio can just make out the illegible scratches of his name, the original amount owed, and the amount paid. The two numbers are equal, and he’s about to open his mouth to complain when she jabs her finger at a third number, seemingly separate from the rest.

He reads ‘Interest’ and his heart sinks into his stomach.

“You were on the run for...how long, Gremio?” She coos, and he stares back up at her brilliant green eyes, fear plastered on his face. There were a lot of zeroes tacked onto the last number, more so than the previous amount had held. “And when was it that I finally found you?”

“Marie excused the headhunt,” he stammers out, hands raised defensively. He doesn’t move towards his axe - he’d left that in his room because prior to this, he’d been  _ safe _ and  _ not _ overwhelmed with yet another debt. Camille smiles wickedly at the remark, a hand slamming into the stone wall that she’s backed him up against.

“I mean,” she drawls out, and her eyes drop to his lips. “There’s more than one way to pay a debt.” Camille purrs.

Gremio pales. “How much was it?”

She shoves the notebook in between them and Gremio comes face to face with the alarming number once more. He chews his lip a little, pushing the notebook down to lock eyes with the redheaded bounty hunter. Her cheeks are a little flushed, like her suggestion was made more to rile up Gremio than to incite any actual action, but her hands are steady despite that.

“What did you have in mind?” he sighs out, and Camille frowns, like she wasn’t expecting that response.

She trails a hand over the clasp of his cloak, tucking her notebook away with ease. Her hand lowers, skimming over the light tunic, the decorative belt, until it reaches the front of his trousers. Camille quirks an eyebrow, palming him roughly through the fabric.

He blushes, skin reddening quickly, but she’s confused when she pulls back.

“Not really what I expected, if I’m being honest.” she says, and Gremio feels a long harbored annoyance bubble up to the surface. He crosses his arms once more, averting his gaze, and misses the way she smiles at him softly.

“But hey, a mouth’s a mouth, right?”

He can barely choke out a surprised “What -” as she knocks his legs out from under him, straddling him in the same breath. “I haven’t agreed to any of this, for the record.” he grunts out roughly, even as she’s shimmying up the length of his body with tan, toned thighs that grip the air from his lungs. Gremio grips at them with his own calloused hands, pleased to find that in spite of the scars and hard muscle, the skin remains soft, pliant under his touch.

“You seem amenable to the idea.” she quips lightly, moving her hands so that one cups her hidden slit, the other Gremio’s face. Camille thumbs roughly at his lips, hisses a little when they part and he licks at the offending digit with a glazed look in his eyes. “Besides,” she shifts the cloth covering her cunt to the side, delighting in the small moan Gremio releases at the sight, “It looks like it’s been a while, in any case.”

“I’ve not -” he groans out, and Camille smiles daggers down at him.

“You can learn, then.” she hisses a little, rolling her hips forward until his mouth is positioned at her entrance. He gives her a tentative lick, blush high on his cheeks, and when she purrs a little at the sensation he leans forward, runs his tongue the length of her slit.

She opens up under his tongue, lower lips parting and glistening from the wetness of his mouth. Gremio closes his eyes, focuses on the slide of his tongue against her willing cunt, and tries to ignore the way Camille’s making heady pants just above him. 

To appease a debt, certainly. Finding pleasure in this was another thing entirely, and despite his frustration at the situation Gremio feels his pants tightening, feels a familiar coil of heat in his gut. Camille grinds her hips down, clit rubbing against his mouth, and lets out a sigh of something close to relief at the feeling.

“I expected you to be better at this.” she jeers, and Gremio feels a flash of anger rush through him. “To be honest,” she punctuates her sentence with another grind of her hips, cutting off Gremio’s air supply long enough that he’s panting when she moves back again. “I wasn’t expecting you to have a  _ cock _ either, so -”

Frustrated, Gremio grabs her hips and forces her down onto his tongue, probing her slit as well he can given the difficult position, and drags her body with sharp, quick movements of his hands that have her quivering over him, eyes wide. “The  _ hell _ -” she cries out, and Gremio digs his nails in, feels her flesh give as he sucks hard on her clit, unforgiving and ruthless.

Camille shudders out her orgasm, seemingly shocked by the speed by which it came over her, and Gremio shoves her up and off of him with a snarl.

“I’ll not be taken advantage of like this again, Camille.” he snaps at her, both disgusted and horribly aroused by the sight of her legs shaking against the stonework floor. “This was entirely rude, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t have the guard escort you from the castle.”

Camille almost looks reproachful, a blush forming at her cheeks, the tips of her ears, and Gremio pulls her up to her feet with a hard glare.

“You’ll be on latrine duty for the foreseeable future, then. I’ll notify Luc and Apple, have them update the roster.” He straightens his tunic as best he can, thankful that his erection is flagging under the circumstances. At her downward gaze he softens, placing a strangely steady hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll have you paid within the month, and were you not so forceful and brash, I might even be  _ amenable _ to a second meeting.” This is the most he’s talked to her in months, the most he’s interacted with her in just as long, and the entire situation has an air of frustration and cheapness to it that makes his stomach curdle. Gremio wasn’t a man for hallway trysts, for being cornered in alcoves and being taken advantage of, and he was surprised that Camille of all people would be his first unfortunate encounter.

A small curiosity needles at him, and he stops her as she turns to leave. “What brought this on? Surely it wasn’t the money, you weren’t like this the first time I owed you a sizeable debt.”

Camille bites her lip, laughs a little. “Most of the army wants a piece of you, Gremio. Don’t pretend like you haven’t noticed.” Her gaze drops again, to the half hard cock in his pants, and she licks her lips a little. “I could always take care of that, if you would like?”

Gremio levels a stare at her that has her giggling a little despite just having been scolded, and she scurries off. With her gone, he thinks back to her last words.

He hadn’t noticed, and the very thought sends dual heat and fear up the base of his spine. Most of the Liberation Army? He’d do well to work out those that were interested, have a small talk with them and refuse their advances. There weren’t many he’d be comfortable sharing a bed with, an evening with, and those that he would -

Well, they’d never be interested in a man like himself, would they? Gremio was a simple manservant, scarred and anxious and battered from his travels.

Surely there weren’t many that would want him in that manner.


	2. Gremio/Stallion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set about a month after the encounter with camille, gremio's slowly coming to terms with the fact that he's a Snack and Sex is Okay
> 
> stallion offers him a way to relax
> 
> chapter tags: multiple orgasms, anal fingering, anal sex

 

Stallion gives him a wide, easy smile, one that has Gremio’s ears burning a little, one that has heat crawling down his spine and settling in a coil in the deep of his gut.

“You look tense.” the elf offers, and Gremio finds himself floundering for a response.

He settles with humming in what he hopes is an affirmative manner, averting his gaze so he can fuss with Young Master’s linens. That’s what he was here for, right. Cleaning, washing laundry, all that fuss. Not indulging in idle chatter with the castle’s laziest inhabitant.

Sure, Stallion was intriguing, easy to talk to with his affable personality and his wickedly sharp wit, but Gremio had a  _ job _ to perform, damn it all.

Stallion leans forward, elbow pressing into the pile of clean linens, and Gremio’s mouth falls open a little when he realizes the elf has him cornered in the small room. This was getting to be a habit with some of the castle inhabitants, it seemed like.

“Is this a game?” he squeaks out indignantly, fluffing out one of his master’s bedsheets. Stallion raises an eyebrow and Gremio tries so hard not to notice how it makes his cheekbones more prominent. “I’ve been cornered by no less than five people in the past week alone - is there a secret part of the army whose goal is to drive me mad?” His voice raises a little on the tail end of the question - he can’t help it. Gremio flusters easily enough on his own, let alone with people  _ cornering  _ him all the damn time.

Though really, if this were anything like the time with Camille a month ago -

He shakes his head to clear the thought, red blooming across his cheeks. Stallion’s wide smile widens even further somehow and Gremio shivers a little at the sight of his more jagged incisors.

“Am I driving you crazy, Gremio?” Stallion asks, and Gremio’s never really noticed before now how much taller the other man is; not much but enough that when he’s this close, the only distance between them being the thin fabric of his master’s bedsheet, there’s a few inches difference. Enough that he has to look  _ up  _ into dazzling blue eyes freckled with gold, enough that if he were to lean in he’d be pressing his lips to the long line of Stallion’s neck, rather than his thin lips, and Gremio has to stop that train of thought in its tracks as well, the already deep red on his cheeks spreading to his neck and undoubtedly his chest as well.

When he comes out of his thoughts he notes Stallion seemingly waiting for an answer, to which he replies, “Yes, of course.” without a second thought, not really certain what exactly he’s agreeing to.

He doesn’t really expect the elf to lean in and press their lips together, he doesn’t expect the hand that slides along the length of his tunic to grip roughly at his ass, and Gremio  _ certainly _ doesn’t expect the fleet footed man to growl and hoist Gremio up with a single arm - a movement that has his mind  _ reeling _ with possibilities - and place him gingerly on top of one of the nearby barrels. Gremio’s parting them with haste, wriggling forward to try and get off the barrel, away from yet  _ another _ of these damnable situations, when Stallion moves in between his legs and pins his arms to the stone wall behind him.

He hisses a little at the shock of cold to his wrists, the ache in his muscles, but quickly bites his lip to prevent any further noise as Stallion unfastens the clasps that keep his tunic in place. His belt follows, trousers pushed down and out of the way, and Gremio vaguely remembers he’s in the middle of a washroom in a castle that houses  _ thousands _ -

And then Stallion has a hand on his cock, pumping the half hard member to its full girth, tongue peeking out to lick at his lips like he’s just caught a particularly good meal.

“You’re lovely, Gremio.” Stallion murmurs, low and sweet, and Gremio gasps a little at the compliment, the ache in his shoulders. He’d be lying if he said the pain wasn’t welcome - traveling brought with it some measure of discomfort, and ever since his resurrection he’d been limited to cleaning duties and other things that weren’t nearly as taxing as he was used to; Gremio felt as though he’d become complacent in his duties, and with that brought a bone deep frustration that he only really released with the bite of cold, the sting of heat, the ache of pain.

He dimly recognizes this as unhealthy, but it’s hard to care when Stallion mouths at his neck with intent, hand moving quick and sure. Soon enough he feels fit to burst, breaths coming in soft, heady pants against the blue of Stallion’s hair as he whimpers out, “Please,  _ god _ , I’m going to  _ come _ -”

Stallion slows enough to get a better grip, lowering his head to press open mouthed kisses to the tip of Gremio’s cock, and he has a second to revel in the warm, slick heat that surrounds him before he’s spilling into Stallion’s mouth, shuddering his release with a guttural groan.

His body goes slack as his eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of Stallion hurriedly shucking off his pants, reaching over Gremio’s shoulder to a bottle of what he desperately hopes is oil. There’s a warmth still too present in his gut, something that demands  _ more _ , and Gremio finds himself whining a little when Stallion hoists his legs up and over his shoulders, enough that he can easily rub a finger against his hole.

“This okay?” Stallion asks, even as he’s already pushing one finger in, the pressure more discomforting than anything, and Gremio swallows his sharp response. Something witty about asking for forgiveness, rather than permission.

Stallion wiggles his fingers around in a way that Gremio, had he more experience, would call ineffective and useless, but given his current, lax state he merely takes the probing in stride, body stiffening like a rod when the elf’s finger hits a bundle of nerves that send pleasure lacing up his spine. His cock threatens to harden once more, despite being well spent, and he can feel the desire to whine and moan coiling in his throat with every thrust of his long, spindly fingers.

There’s another pressing hotly at his entrance, and Gremio’s hands, long released, clench on the sides of the barrel hard enough that his knuckles go white. He hisses a little at the unexpected intrusion, eyes gleaming dangerously at Stallion’s head, but the elf only smirks at his expression, ducking down to press nips and kisses at the junction of his thighs. Gremio’s thighs shake a little with every bite and he resigns himself to dealing with a spread of hickeys over the pale, soft flesh come morning with the way Stallion keeps biting and sucking in the same spots, intent to mark.

Not that he really minded, of course. He was a little partial to marks, little remembrances of what had transpired.

Gremio can feel his cock finally hardening at the ministrations, filling and thickening and standing at attention when Stallion rubs two fingers against the same bundle of nerves, the motion making Gremio whimper and pant a little from the shock of pleasure.

“Hmm, it’s no good.” Stallion says, and removes his fingers, wiping them against one of the Young Master’s dirty bed sheets. He’s frowning but there’s no heat, no malice behind it - his eyes are smiling and Gremio only notices that because he’s too busy trying not to think about how the slick that had been used to prepare his ass was all over his master’s  _ sheets _ , for god’s sake. He only barely registers the press of something bigger, something more insistent probing at his entrance, and he doesn’t have enough time to prepare himself before Stallion pumps his hips forward, burying the head his cock in Gremio’s ass.

“You’re still so  _ tense. _ ” he says with a low growl, thrusting forward until the length of his cock is fully sheathed in Gremio, the man gasping and clawing roughly at the elf’s back. Stallion doesn’t wait for him to adjust, instead moving slowly, body shuddering like the action takes considerably more effort.

“ _ Gremio _ .” Stallion shifts the weight of his body further down the barrel, hips thrusting into Gremio at a fixed, agonizingly slow pace, and Gremio can’t think for the drag of Stallion’s cock inside of him, the way he seems to hit that same bundle of nerves with every slow, deep pass of his length. He’s already coiled taut with the need to come - too many weeks in close quarters up to his neck in busy work have had him unable to find the sort of release Stallion is granting him and hell, maybe the elf was right, maybe he  _ was _ tense -

The thoughts stop entirely as Stallion picks up the pace just enough for the lingering waves of pleasure to compound, filling him up, up, up until Gremio can’t breathe, white spots dancing in his eyes as he comes for the second time that night. Stallion grunts alongside him, slowing his pace to draw out Gremio’s orgasm, letting him ride the aftershocks gently. The elven man leans in, presses a kiss to the side of Gremio’s jaw when he comes back to the present, and resumes his slightly quickened pace.

Gremio wants to cry from the overstimulation, breaths coming in short, sweet gasping moans that reverberate off of the stonework. He can’t bring himself to care that he’s being louder than he should, can’t care when he’s so limp and pliable and  _ relaxed _ despite the cock still pumping in and out of his ass. Stallion gives him a once over with a sweaty, bitten lip grin, hands reaching up to knead the soft flesh of his chest over the thin fabric of his tunic.

He hadn’t even gotten fully undressed, he realizes, and the thought makes the blood rush south faster than he feels it should have, but he’s too overwhelmed with the feeling of Stallion’s thick cock quickening, picking up speed as the elf leans in to mark up his neck as well. Gremio whimpers out, something soft and begging, and Stallion slows enough to whisper lowly in his ear, “You’ll have to be a touch louder if you want me to hear you, darling.”

Gremio bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, the dual pleasure and pain lighting his skin aflame. “I can’t -” he hiccups, eyes finally leaking tears, “I can’t come again -”

Stallion claps a hand over his mouth, eyes boring holes into him. His hips quicken again, slamming into Gremio with a force that makes the barrel wobble underneath them. Gremio’s eyes roll back, his head thudding lightly against the stonework as his cock threatens to harden for a third time in the span of ten minutes, every thrust catching that bundle of nerves until Gremio is an incoherent, gasping mess of sweat and cum.

He hears a heady moan from the man in front of him, can feel Stallion’s thrusts becoming more jerky, uncoordinated, and Gremio clenches his ass at the thought of being  _ filled _ and then -

Stallion comes, his mouth shocked open, chest heaving in great breaths that fill the entirety of the small washroom, and the look on his face is enough that Gremio stutters out a desperate plea for release, his cock fully hard despite the mess of come decorating his tunic.

There’s a hand on his cock but he’s too far gone to recognize it as his own or Stallion’s pumping fast and hard and  _ then _ -

Gremio comes again, weak spurts of come landing on the already sizeable mess, and he collapses, boneless, against the wall. Stallion pulls out of him, laughing childishly at the sight of come leaking from the shorter man’s hole.

“How do you feel?” he eventually asks, and when Gremio opens his eyes dully he notes Stallion’s already fully dressed, reaching over to the blonde with a look of concern.

“Like I’ve run a marathon.” Gremio slurs, and Stallion laughs. “Like I’ve been thoroughly  _ spent _ .” he continues, and Stallion smiles his wickedly sharp smile at the sight of Gremio so thoroughly debauched. Marks decorate his thighs and neck, his ponytail having long come undone sometime in the midst of their fucking. His tunic is nigh unsalvageable, the spattering of come already drying onto the thick, absorbent cloth.

“I’ll help you to bed.” he murmurs, and leans in to pick Gremio up from the barrel and help him stand.

“Oh, none of that.” Gremio responds, and Stallion notes that he sounds exhausted but relieved, posture more lax than it had been a half hour previous. “I’ve work to do.”

Stallion brings him forth, presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, and pats him lightly on the ass. “And I’ve clouds to watch.” He winks at the blonde, blows a kiss as he departs from the washroom. “You know where to find me if you’d like a repeat performance.”

Gremio stands, pantsless, in the middle of the washroom that smells like a heady mixture of sex and soap, and feels come slowly trail down his thigh. He discards his tunic with a stretch, tries to clean himself up as best he can, and smiles a little at his work.

He hasn’t been this relaxed in  _ months _ .


	3. Gremio/Tir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gremio and tir have a long due conversation
> 
> chapter tags: unrequited love

“Young Master,” Gremio breathes into the small space between them, his hands splayed over the expanse of Tir’s chest to prevent him from leaning in further, claiming those delicate lips for his own, “Please do not ask this of me.”

“Why not?” His voice is barely there, a whisper Gremio strains to hear, and as he starts to speak again his voice cuts in and out. “Camille, Stallion, why not me?”

Gremio shoves him again, hard enough that Tir actually stumbles backwards, a hurt expression on his face. “You’re a  _ child _ , Tir!” he says, and the Young Master growls in response, stalking forward to erase the distance between them once more.

“I’m not, Gremio. I’ve dealt with  _ so much _ , I can’t be called a child anymore.”

“You are, and I can’t in good conscience pursue a relationship with someone whose trousers I used to change.” Gremio says with a finality that strikes even him as cold and commanding. He feels it too, feels the hard line of his spine as he stares down at his charge from the few inches he still has over the younger man, Tir’s gaze averted, his cheeks a ruddy red.

“Forget it.” he whispers, and turns to leave the room, realizing a touch too late that it’s his own and the situation he’s found himself in is purely his fault. Gremio stares after him coldly, a heavy weight weighing on his heart.

“Tir.” he calls, settling down on the bed and patting the bed in a manner he hopes is reminiscent of the late Lady McDohl, not an invitation for something he can’t provide the young man. The  _ child _ , really. Sixteen and traumatized did not an adult make.

Tir walks over, head hung like a scolded child, and when he looks up his eyes are wide and pleading, lower lip jutting out in a pout that makes Gremio laugh despite the situation. He gathers the young boy in his arms, pets his hair, makes soothing noises he knows are likely to lull the boy to sleep. He only stops when he starts to hear massive, hiccuping sobs from Tir, hands clutching at the edge of his tunic as though if he lets go Gremio might disappear.

In all fairness, he already  _ had _ , Gremio realizes with a horrid pang to his heart. He’d died, and Tir had been left alone to lead the Liberation Army and deal with losing his caretaker and really -

When Gremio came back, when the army itself seemed to swarm in on him and declare him a  _ conquest  _ rather than the prim and proper  _ bother _ he’d been previously -

It made sense then, that Tir responded as such. Surrounded by adults that looked up to him, put him on a pedestal, of  _ course _ he would emulate their behavior. 

He’s brought back to the present when one of Tir’s hands snakes up to cup his cheek, his chin, and Gremio scoots away quick like Tir’s burned him, face drawn into another scowl.

“You can’t do this, Young Master.” He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting the ponytail, and takes the cascade of hair over his shoulders as an excuse to busy his hands for a moment. “I haven’t consented, firstly.” He turns a hard glare on Tir, who’s worrying a lip between his teeth. “And secondly, I’m nearly a decade older than you. I won’t lay with a child, I’m not that sort of degenerate.” he spits out. There’s an anger bubbling up in his chest now, something hard and ruthless and  _ pained _ , and he grips Tir’s arm with a fervor.

“You are your own person, and you don’t need to succumb to what the army believes. You lead  _ them _ , Tir. Not the other way round.” Tir won’t meet his eyes, chest heaving like it does in the heat of battle, and he thrusts his left hand towards Gremio in a display that has Gremio reeling a little from the waves of energy emanating from the Soul Eater hidden beneath the thick leather of his glove.

“ _I_ _can’t get any older_.” he hisses at Gremio, and several things click into place for him at once.

“How old are you now, Tir?” he asks, a feeling of dread slipping up into his throat.

He sees Tir exhale, long and slow like he’d taught him years back, and when Tir opens his eyes they’re clear and weary, aged far beyond his years. “Technically? I’ve been twenty for near three months now.”

Gremio pales a little when he realizes he’s never asked how much time passed between his death and resurrection. Near everyone looked the same, save for a few scars here and there, Cleo and Pahn having gotten together, Mathiu’s loss of his right leg -

Tir hadn’t changed, so he’d assumed mere months had passed.

He’s lucky he’s already sitting or his legs would have given out at the thought. Tir offers his hand hesitantly, and Gremio pauses a moment before clasping it roughly in his. The contact helps ease the pain of knowing, and he’s soon staring blankly at the tapestry that covers the far wall with an intensity that could set flame, were he using a fire rune.

“No one told me.” he sighs out, and Tir meets his gaze with something hopeful.

“I’m still,” Gremio swallows, removing his hand and rubbing his thumbs together in his lap awkwardly. “I don’t think I can be a lover to you, Young Master.”

Tir breathes in slow, exhaling with a sharp, bitter laugh. “I gathered.”

He’s not willing to leave the space between them laden with regret, with pain and hesitation and the inability to  _ do _ , so he chokes out a quick, high, “You know, I think Kasumi -” and grins a little when Tir drops his head into his hands with a pained groan.

“God, don’t  _ mention _ her. She might be watching, god knows.”

Gremio laughs behind his hand, checking the windows briefly. He can’t see anything, but that really doesn’t mean  _ anything _ , not where Kasumi’s concerned. She was too quick, too nimble for her own good, and Tir often felt the brunt of her considerable ability.

Tir eventually looks back up at Gremio, the ghost of a smile on his face. His brows are drawn tight like he wants to say something, so Gremio patiently waits.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters into his hand, eyes crinkling at the edges when he flashes a bright grin at the older man. “I’ll be fine, I’ll get over it.”

There’s the shadow of doubt in the back of Gremio’s mind at the assertion, but he merely nods. No use in pushing the issue, not with so much pent up emotion regarding the fact. But still -

“I will always serve you, Young Master. As long as I am able.” Gremio stands, kneeling low in front of his young, too young charge. Tir huffs a sad laugh, something thick with the beginnings of tears, and Gremio only looks up when Tir waves a dismissive hand to his subordinate.

“I’ll speak to you in the morning. Go get some rest.”

Gremio nods, stands, and leaves the room as quick and quiet as he can manage. On the other side of the door he can hear muffled sniffs, followed by a series of wet sounding curses.


	4. Gremio/Viktor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gremio needs a drink after his encounter with tir, and runs into an old friend in the tavern
> 
> chapter tags: drunk sex, anal fingering, anal sex, size kink, dubcon (they're fuckin drunk y'all)

Gremio heads down to the bar as soon as he can muster up the willingness to do anything but wallow in his own stupidity, whatever choices had led to tonight’s encounter burning bright in his mind like a brand - a shining example of his failure as a caretaker.

Maybe not, ultimately, but with the way Tir had looked tonight, eyes red and puffy, such a hopeful expression on his too young face - 

It had certainly felt like a failure at the time, and it felt like one now, and more than anything he desperately wants a drink so he can forget the way Tir’s hand had curled around his wrist. The thought of possessing the younger man flashes through his mind briefly, replaced instantly with a feeling of disgust and shame.

“Ugh,” he remarks helpfully, and opens the door to the makeshift tavern on the first level of the castle.

Antonio and Marie had finally gotten married, it seemed, and had transformed the often traversed inn into more of a pub, situating the inn in a more reasonable space - the entirety of Milich’s quarters after he had returned to his home. Most of the army had been glad to see him leave, and taking his specifically crafted tower was the metaphorical notice of banishment from both the castle itself and the Liberation Army.

They’d welcomed his assistance, but he had killed Gremio, after all.

Marie greets him from behind the counter, a flushed Kasumi running drinks to the patrons calling out for refills, and Gremio’s struck with a deep relief that she wasn’t, in fact, stalking Tir just inside of earshot for their conversation. No one else needed to be aware of their situation, and Gremio just wanted to forget the night in its entirety, if he was being honest.

He hears a familiar booming laugh that resounds in the bustling tavern, the slam of a tankard against a wooden table preceding a small splash that has Marie glaring off in the direction of a large, bear like individual. Gremio sets his shoulders, raises two fingers in a decisive gesture towards Kasumi, who nods at him with ease, and he strides over to Viktor’s table with intent.

“Gremio!” Viktor calls out as a greeting, red face indicating a far lower level of sobriety than Gremio’s necessarily comfortable with, but he’s ready to drink as the situation demands. Kasumi sneaks past in a flurry, settling down two more tankards, and Gremio takes one in two hands and gulps from the mug heavily, sucking it dry with a dour expression on his face as he sets the tankard down once more. Viktor watches the event with a morbid interest, head propped up by a hand, elbow resting on the table, and he quirks a brow when Gremio locks eyes with him.

“Long night, huh?” he quips, and Gremio’s hand twitches towards the other tankard, already regretting his choice of company. Viktor claps him lightly on the back, mindful of his small size, and leans in as though to share a secret. “Kid finally confess to you?”

The glare Gremio levels at him has been used to exact order on a disorderly house, punish his charge, and terrify more than one government official. Viktor doesn’t even blink.

“Yes,” he concedes, voice slurring out in a way that has him vaguely worried before he remembers that he hasn’t exactly  _ eaten _ since this morning, and even then it wasn’t anything entirely filling. The day’s events, consisting mainly of delegation and running improvements on the old structure followed by  _ whatever the hell had just happened _ -

Viktor slides the other mug forwards, barking out a harsh laugh when Gremio wrinkles his nose at the smell. Ah, mead. That would do the trick as well. He’d been so preoccupied in downing the first mug that he hadn’t stopped to taste the contents; a skill useful when traveling on hardtack and jerky, but not so much when trying to remain mostly coherent. Viktor places a hand at the small of his back, patting lightly when Gremio downs this in mere seconds as well.

“Must have been a hell of a confession, if you’re here and not, uh.” he grins lasciviously at the smaller man. Gremio shoots a disgusted glare at him, and Viktor holds a hand up placatingly, the other rubbing circles into the fabric of Gremio’s tunic.

“He’s a  _ child _ , Viktor.” he spits out, and he’d be leaving the table if not for the warmth of the hand on his back, the way Kasumi eyes him briefly before settling another tankard in front of him with the same honeyed mead inside. “I practically  _ raised _ him.”

Viktor hums lowly, previous conversation with the other table’s inhabitants - Alen and Grenseal, he thinks - completely forgotten in favor of harassing Gremio. The hand at Gremio’s back hasn’t moved, hasn’t stopped rubbing lightly, and he can feel a heat coiling in his gut at the feeling. “Well, I was younger than him when I lost my virginity.” Viktor muses, and Gremio very nearly spits out his drink.

“What?” he sputters, and he can feel his cheeks going red. The sudden intake of alcohol is dulling his senses, but not enough that he can’t feel the hand on his back splay out like Viktor’s trying to pull him closer. He moves forward despite himself, leans his head into Viktor’s space and delights when the bigger - quite frankly,  _ bear _ of a man - flushes under his scrutiny.

“Well yeah, I was around sixteen, myself.” Viktor’s eyes are glittering and it’s only distracting Gremio a little from the story he’s already assumed won’t be entirely truthful. “I’d been told to go save a ‘damsel in distress’ just outside of Antei, right?” He’s close, close enough that Gremio can smell the mead on his breath, the slight musk that permeated his presence. “And he was  _ incredibly _ thankful, if you know what I mean.”

Gremio doesn’t blink at the pronoun - the last few years had seen hook ups of convenience between near everyone in the Liberation Army, save for a precious few that included himself. He’d apparently become fair game after his resurrection, however, as evidenced by Camille and Stallion and -

And the hand currently trailing down his tunic to the crest of his ass, belonging to a completely unfazed Viktor who’s grinning ear to ear, shaggy brown hair lit up from behind like a halo. Gremio’s just the right mix of quickly intoxicated and morbidly intrigued to allow the motion with a quirk of his brow.

Viktor knows where they stand, knows that despite the fact he’s easily half his size Gremio could lodge his axe into the cleft of his shoulder and neck without so much as breaking a sweat. Viktor understands that, even now with his lack of axe, Gremio could easily down him, could easily topple the bear of a man with a devilish smirk and -

Ah, he’s  _ very _ drunk for those sorts of thoughts. The hand palming at his ass pauses when he stares down Viktor with intent, head tilting almost imperceptibly behind him. Viktor’s grin widens just a touch as he stands with a surprising grace, making his way from the tavern with Gremio close on his heels.

The walk to their quarters is quiet, silent save for the stumbling steps they take towards the elevator, pressing roughly at the number indicating their floor.

If they’re lucky, Gremio thinks, they’ll make it to his room unbothered and unhurried, and he can take his time with  _ whatever _ Viktor has planned. His thoughts shatter as the doors to the elevator close and Viktor herds him back against the wall, a hand framing him, making escape a touch more difficult.

“You sure about this?” Viktor asks, and Gremio feels a surge of respect for the other man. “You are pretty drunk.” he continues, and runs a thumb over the curve of Gremio’s jaw.

Gremio shudders a little at the movement, at the feeling of Viktor holding himself back for the purpose of determining if he’s okay with whatever’s about to happen, and he ends up nodding in lieu of words - he’s not entirely sure they’d come out properly at the moment anyhow.

“Say it.” Viktor growls, and the elevator shakes its way up another floor.

Gremio sucks in a harsh breath, blurry vision focusing on the way Viktor’s hand clenches in the lapel of his tunic. “I’m certain.” he murmurs, low and slurred, and he catches a slight frown that fades into surprise.

Viktor leans in with a surprising amount of tenderness, the bulk of his frame’s weight positioned on the arm trapping Gremio in place. There’s a brief moment where their lips meet and Gremio’s mind melts with the ease in which his mouth parts immediately, Viktor humming out a surprised noise that gets swallowed up between them.

The elevator dings just as Viktor’s hand travels up the length of Gremio’s tunic, calluses scraping roughly against the lightly scarred skin, and they part slowly, eyes locked.

“Huh,” Viktor says, and Gremio doesn’t have time to think about what the exclamation could potentially mean as he’s hoisted up into a bridal carry, normally average frame looking miniscule in comparison to the larger man.

They pass Gremio’s room quickly, Viktor instead taking the longer route that meanders more towards his portion of the castle - the southeastern corner of the fifth floor, reserved especially for the larger man and the remainder of the original Liberation Army Command. Flik’s room is somewhere around here, as is Mathiu’s, and Gremio squirms a little when the thought of what they’re about to do compounds with the thought that  _ Mathiu might hear them _ , and he’s twisting in Viktor’s grip enough to link his arms around his neck, enough to pull himself up and press insistent, demanding kisses to the thick of his neck.

“Shit, hold on.” Viktor grunts, and Gremio doesn’t let up, doesn’t allow the other man time to think or process what he’s doing when Gremio sucks a hard bruise into Viktor’s collarbone. The door swings open behind him, courtesy of a lucky kick, and Viktor adjusts their position so that he’s holding Gremio up by the hips, his own tucked neatly in between Gremio’s legs. He’s pressing the shorter man into the wall, fumbling for the door and grunting affirmation when it closes a second later, all the while pressing desperate, demanding kisses to Gremio’s mouth, his jaw, his neck -

“God, get on with it already,” Gremio demands, and Viktor huffs a laugh.

“Should’ve figured you’d be bossy in bed too.” he growls out roughly, turning to deposit Gremio onto the bed gracelessly.

“Wouldn’t be bossy if you’d just -” Gremio starts, cut off by the impact of lips on lips, teeth clacking together painfully enough that he hisses a little from the contact. Viktor runs a hand down Gremio’s front, delighting in the way his stomach jumps a little from the contact, even through the thick cloth of his tunic, and removes the offending clothing with a grunt. Gremio flushes a little under the discerning gaze Viktor levels at his bare chest, a massive hand running the span of skin and pressing lightly at his nipples, his ribs, the trail of blonde that leads down -

Viktor takes a step back, removes his shirt and pants in a movement clearly practiced, and Gremio’s left to stare openly at the press of his cock against the thin cloth of his undergarments; he was large, there was no mistaking that - Viktor was a massive man, commanding both on the battlefield and in the war room - but somehow Gremio had never really connected his size with the potential of what lay in his trousers.

Possibly because he’d never really thought of himself as a sexual being, what with all the running around and trying not to die he’d been doing the past year or so. Now that things had finally calmed down, now that the Liberation Army was mostly in place to prevent another Barbarossa from rising, he’d been allowed to explore things he’d previously put on hold years ago.

The thoughts swirling around his mind are disbanded as Viktor fingers the edge of his trousers with a questioning grunt, Gremio too fixated on the span of muscle and hair on the chest in front of him to do anything but nod quickly in response. The bed creaks a little when Viktor rolls the pants down and off, letting out a surprised hum when he notes that Gremio isn’t wearing underthings.

He can’t help the blush that rises up, covering his face with an arm and turning his gaze to the side as though it might prevent ridicule. Viktor, however, only leans forward to leave a trail of kisses down his chest, stubble scratching Gremio in a way he dimly registers as incredibly attractive. The remainder of his mead has thoroughly kicked in and he feels loose, pliant, willing and ready for anything the bigger man has to offer, and when Viktor meets his eyes and notes the blush rising high, the way he’s biting his lips red -

Viktor gives him a wicked smirk as he ducks down to fit Gremio’s half hard cock in his mouth, the sensation of sudden wet warmth making Gremio buck lazily into his mouth with a light groan. “Oh  _ lord _ .” he whines as Viktor runs a hand up to knead his chest, the other ducking below his mouth to press insistently at his hole.

“Do you have any slick?” Viktor asks as he pulls off of Gremio’s slowly hardening cock with a pop. Gremio gestures grandly around the room and Viktor laughs low, the rumble of his chest reverberating through the bedframe, going straight to Gremio’s dick. 

“Right, right. My place.” Viktor stands and strides over to the bedside table, rifling through the contents within until he seems pleased with what he’s found - a small vial full of a golden liquid that Gremio recognizes as kitchen oil.

“Did you steal that?” he slurs out indignantly, and Viktor winks at him in response. “Ugh, fine.” Gremio jumps a little at the first press of thick fingers to his entrance, the oil still cold and trailing down onto the flannel bed sheets. Viktor doesn’t waste time preparing him, working him open with a single minded focus usually reserved for cutting down enemies, but Gremio can’t find it in himself to care with how Viktor keeps rubbing against the bundle of nerves deep in his ass, rougher and rougher with each pass until he feels like his skin is on  _ fire _ , until he feels like simply  _ breathing _ will net him the release he’s suddenly so desperate for.

He groans when Viktor removes his fingers, back arching a little even as Viktor manhandles him onto his knees, shoving him forward until Viktor can clamber onto the bed with him. “I’m putting my cock in,” he narrates, and Gremio would find the warning hilarious if not for the fact that given the size of the cock head pressing into his entrance, he  _ needs _ the warning in order to brace himself, in order to feel like he’s not being split in half from toe to tip.

It takes some doing, Viktor pausing to gulp in heady breaths as he slowly shifts further and further forward until the head of his cock has fully breached Gremio’s ass and he can’t remember ever feeling this  _ full _ , even with just the head inside of him, and then Viktor laughs and -

“Always knew you had something up your ass,” Viktor rumbles from behind Gremio, and the sound of it sends a shiver up Gremio’s spine, he can feel it reverberating  _ inside _ of him, Viktor’s cock near splitting him in two; the way he’s working himself further and further into Gremio’s ass makes him cry out, makes him fist the thick flannel sheets and arch his back from the feeling of being so  _ full _ .

“Didn’t, uh.” Viktor grunts as he bottoms out, the noise turning into something a little lighter as laughter bubbles up from his gut, the motion of his jerking chest causing Gremio to whine a little from the feeling. “Didn’t know it was my  _ cock _ .” he continues, and just like that Gremio’s haze of pleasure breaks and he heaves a long suffering sigh.

“Viktor,” he says, and Viktor’s hands dig in at his hips when he hears how low, how  _ wrecked _ the blonde sounds. “I’d appreciate it if you’d carry on.” Gremio rolls his hips back despite the size of the length within him, gasping a little when the sheer size of the other man’s dick allows it to rub against something that has his skin feeling like he’s aflame. Viktor makes a sound like he’s gasping, his own hips starting to thrust against the slick blonde beneath him.

“Always thought you’d look good like this,” he growls, hands traveling the length of Gremio’s back before settling again on his hips, pulling him hard as he thrusts in. “On your hands and knees, tight little ass just  _ taking _ my cock.” He grunts, tempo increasing, and Gremio moans out something incomprehensible and broken.

He’s already so close, even with so little having been  _ done _ and yet -

Viktor’s slamming into him with a drive that would scare him, were it not for the gentle hands at his hips and the alcohol dulling the pain, intensifying the pleasure. Gremio’s releasing fragile, stuttered moans with every thrust, Viktor growling as he chases his own release. He can feel the coiled heat low in him mounting with every pass of Viktor’s cock, can hardly breathe fort the  _ size _ of the damn man fucking him into the mattress and then, when Gremio feels as though he’s simultaneously too close and not close enough -

A thick, muscled arm wraps around his neck and flexes, and Gremio cries out, ropes of come spattering across the flannel sheets, his body quivering from the exertion. Viktor follows not far after, a few more thrusts and he’s digging his fingers into Gremio’s hip bones, letting out a strangled groan. Gremio gasps a little at the feeling of being filled so completely, overstimulated and too sensitive.

Viktor rolls off of him, splaying out on the bed like a starfish, and cracks a grin at the smaller, shaking man.

“That was fun.” he mumbles, and closes his eyes. Gremio flops onto the bed next to him, eyes fixed on the hickey at Viktor’s collarbone. He closes his eyes for a moment, just for a heartbeat, and when he opens them a minute or two later Viktor’s huffing out small breaths, body lax and twitching lightly.

Gremio nearly laughs. The bastard’s fallen asleep.

Standing is difficult, movement even more so now that the full brunt of his previously imbibed mead is coming to weigh on his mind, on his body. He gathers his clothes, dresses just enough that in passing someone he won’t immediately offend, and leaves the room quietly to patter down the hallway to his own quarters.

The door clicks softly behind him when he leaves and he can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out, shaking his head a little to dislodge the ponytail in his hair fully, letting the hair cascade over his shoulders in a way he only does when alone. There’s a soft, “ _ Oh _ .” behind him, and Gremio turns to face the owner of the sound with wobbly, unsteady legs.

Mathiu’s looking him over with an expression he can’t place, normally put together strategist flushed a deep red and mouth agape.

Gremio would be embarrassed, but he’s left most of his inhibitions in the room behind him, if the way his cock throbs in his trousers is any indication. “Sorry, Mathiu.” he slurs out, and starts his journey back to his room. Mathiu makes a strangled sort of noise, a hand coming out to grip lightly at his mostly exposed upper arm, and Gremio flashes him a concerned look.

“Let me walk you back.” Mathiu says, quiet and  _ sad _ , and Gremio kind of wants to curl up in his bed and not move for the next week if interacting with Mathiu will make him look like  _ this. _

“Thank you, chief strategist.” he mumbles out, low and apologetic, and Mathiu wraps an arm around his waist and helps him hobble back to his room without any further conversation.

Gremio resolves to speak to Mathiu about this later on, when his head isn’t quite so fuzzy and his body isn’t quite so well and thoroughly  _ fucked _ .

**Author's Note:**

> this is just an excuse for me to write gremio gettin fucked by like ten people, so enjoy <3
> 
> comments are appreciated and make me write more!! and hell, i've got a few more ideas for this, so i may update with more later <3 <3 <3


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